Never meant to happen
by BellaDonna24
Summary: It can be pretty hard on John to stick by Sherlock sometimes...  Sherlock/John
1. Chapter 1

**I was just in one of those moods and my boyfriend and me kinda remind me of John and Sherlock sometimes (me very clearly being John) and I just rambled this together. Hope it makes sense...  
>Disclaimer: I obviously don't own any of the characters (though I wish I did) I do own the situation though (Which right now I kinda wish I didn't)<br>****Please review and correct if you find mistakes - you most likely will-  
>Love xx BellaDonna<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>John's P.O.V. <strong>

I never planned this, never asked and never, ever, wanted this.

It seemed clear: Sarah, kind and caring, my perfect match, my girlfriend, perhaps one day, my wife.  
>You, sharp and arrogant, my flatmate, my friend, perhaps one day, a good person.<p>

I was happy enough to to put up with sharing a flat with you, was thrilled to count you a friend, and honestly shared Lestrade's conviction that maybe one day you could be not just a great, but also a good person.  
>It was all fine.<p>

But then things started to get confused. Without meaning to I found my mind wondering, not to long light chestnut hair and dark turquoise eyes, but to unruly ebony curls and metallic quicksilver orbs that melted with a single smile into beautiful shimmering lakes.

If I had been given a choice, I would not have chosen you (no offense but) you're not really the number one person I want to trust with my emotional well-being.  
>We never do get to choose who we fall in love with though, do we?<br>For so long I figured it was no use telling you how I felt about you, what would it achieve other than a snide comment and mockery?

You were married to the job and, even if you were interested in a divorce, I wasn't sure I could handle being with you. What if I was wrong about you? Maybe I just imagined those glimpses of humanity that I so stubbornly believed to be the _real _you? Hell... what if I was right? Could I handle being the only one to actually know you? Could I shoulder the responsibility of that look in your eye?

It worked well enough, I stayed at a firm companionable distance – besides reaching into your pocket for your phone – but then you started to change ( because you are Sherlock frigging Holmes, and everything has to be made more... interesting) your touches became more lingering, your stance closer and your glances more meaningful.  
>Until we got to a point were we both knew, we just needed one last little push. We got that, literally, during a manic chase through London, and we both ended up in the Themes. Once we had clambered to the shore and checked we were both alive Sherlock turned, in one spray of droplets twirling off his coat, and faced me. I had a split second to wonder weather the shifting fog around us had somehow seeped into his eyes, before he dipped his head down and kissed me.<p>

Everything seemed so perfect, you showed me a side of yourself no one ever saw. Tender and protective our lives entwined together easily and I found I loved you more than I had ever loved anyone before. There was, however, always a niggling doubt that in the shadows of the night turned into full blown fear. I trusted you with my life, no questions asked, but I did not trust you with my heart. When you absentmindedly played with my hair in the evening, or gently ran your fingers along the inside of my arm, I felt all doubt leave me; only to feel it return in full force the second you volunteer me to flirt with a suspect, or jumped in front of a cab. Does it not bother you when I flirt with others? I know it bothers me when you do it; Do you not worry I might get hurt? Do you not know how the thought of any harm coming to you hurts me? Do you really care for me as I care for you?

Now we are lying beside each other, a smile gracing your lips and tugging at the corners of mine.  
>You just told me you loved me, in between two kisses, murmured in a husky, smokey semblance of your voice. I wasn't even sure I heard it right before the answer was on my lips.<br>"I love you too." It came out easily, one of the most honest things I've ever said...

Then your phone rang and you jumped out of bed, shoving me to the side in your haste to get to the case. Out my door in under ten seconds. Leaving me wondering what sick sense of humor fate had to make me love you. Wondering painfully, whether you love me like I love you,  
>whether you love me at all...<p>

**Once again, hope that actually made sense...  
><strong>**I'd say I really LOVE reviews but I wouldn't want to be _obvious _so this is me very loudly not saying anything...? **


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks so much for the reviews and favourites! Vivi, Mustangwoman and SQ, it's thanks to you guys that I'm continuing this so there's the proof ladies and gentlemen! your comments DO have an effect! Sorry that this is an inbetweenish kinda chapter, hope you like it none the less.**  
><strong>If you want me to continue, I do have another chapter lined up but I will need a certain amount of encouragement ( you see there's this button...) <strong>  
><strong>Enjoy, love BellaD<strong>

* * *

><p>I was lying curled up in the back seat of the car, the radio blaring in the background. My head resting against the side window, I was trying to sort out the thoughts that had been haunting my mind over the last two weeks. All the different perspectives, ideas, suspicions and doubts that were racing through my mind. They seemed so busy and loud that I was surprised Sherlock couldn't hear them from the where he was sitting next to me.<p>

I had tried to discuss them with Sherlock a few times but to no avail.  
>Then again, when I say discuss I really mean that I tried to tell him I got jealous once, and tried to make him jealous on two occasions.<p>

When I mentioned I got jealous, he raised an eyebrow at me and turned around, mumbling something that sounded like Latin for idiot.  
>Trying to make Sherlock jealous ended even better, namely with him laughing at me when I mentioned a series of VERY flattering messages I had received on my blog.<p>

Either way, this wasn't going well and I couldn't even figure out why these things elicited such non-reactions from him. Was it because he didn't feel threatened by other men, or was it simple because he did. not. care.

We were on our way to a case for Mycroft ("for your country" seemed to have the same effect on Sherlock as "could be dangerous" had on me; he really was the more noble one of us...) and I knew I had a fair few hours to think this through .

I settled myself down and closed my eyes, forcing myself into the deep state of relaxation I had learned to apply while in Afghanistan; making me look like I was fast asleep. I could do this for hours, completely detached from my body I could think, undisturbed by Sherlock.

How was anyone meant to know what Sherlock thought, about anything, let alone something he tried to conceal (once again I wondered. Was it for fear of seeming vulnerable? Or something more sinister?)

I heard the songs reel past one by one, Sherlock softly singing along to some of them, his deep baritone vibrating through the car like a lullaby. Uninhibited in his supposed solitude. I forced the smile pulling at the corners of my mouth to relax, loosening my muscles until once more Sherlock would no longer be able to tell I was not asleep.

I tried to focus on all the things we shared, all the signs that maybe, perhaps, possibly, you had been telling me the truth when you said those three words. We spent so much time together, laughed together at peoples idiocy, hurt together at humanity's cruelty.  
>Neither of us were particularly eloquent when it came to emotions, I was fine as long as I could 'backspace', 'Ctrl Z', or 'delete' what I had put out there but spontaneous decelerations never sounded right somehow; and you... well you're YOU, need I say more? We both showed our affection in brief touches, small private smiles and gentle kisses.<p>

Surely these things meant you cared? But how, _how _was it possible for you to be at all interested by me? Dull, quiet, normal, all the things you despised, _me.  
><em>As we passed the last of the proper towns surrounding London, I realized that there was no way you could be truly interested in me. Better by far that I made this easier on both of us.  
>I'd sign up to the army again, save some lives somewhere, if I couldn't save my own heart.<br>But I would try something, just one last time, before I left my heart behind for good.

* * *

><p><strong>Remeber, the future of this fic is in your hands!<strong>  
><strong>Love BellaD <strong>


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

**John's .**

Still I lay in the back seat of the car, hours had passed and the sun was low in the sky. Golden beams shining through the window onto my face, their innocent unassuming light a mocking contrast to my dark thoughts. Slowly I was building up my plan, I knew what to do, I just had to figure out how to do it.

**Sherlock's P.O.V. **

I was pondering the facts of the case, a young woman had gone missing from her yoga class. She only ever travelled through well populated areas and (the reason for Mycroft's concern) she was a highly trained, well informed MI5 agent. Still, no one had noticed anything unusual, someone apparently had managed to snatch her, without her making a sound or putting up any kind of resistance. There was absolutely no evidence according to the local police department (not that that meant much), so, off we were to Aberdeen to solve this case for my brother. No scratch that, neither of us was doing this for my brother, we were doing this for our country.

As there was no body John wouldn't have all that much to do, still, he didn't realise just how useful he was even without his medical knowledge. John has a talent for all the things which are lacking in me. He seems to have trigger thoughts, as I have started calling them, thoughts and ideas that, although wrong, trigger something in my mind that bring me on the right track. John is also very good with people, he gets them to open up to him like my manipulation never does, there is just something in his voice, in his face, that makes people _want _to open up to him. This is why I asked him to come along.

That, and I miss him when he was out of my sight. And I worry about him, constantly.

We were approaching a particularly windy section of the road, the car made a sharp turn causing John's head loll to one side, his body threatening to slide out of his seat. I stuck my arm out and gently held him in place. The action was an unconscious one. Not a reflex, like sticking your arms out to lessen the impact of a cab hitting you, but more of an instinctual action, like a parent waking seconds before their baby starts crying for food.

I smiled at this, although I rarely told John how much I cared for him, I let it shine through in my actions.  
>Over time, he had made me discover not only that the earth revolves around the sun and not the other way around. I had discovered that I was the earth, that he was my sun and that I revolved around him.<br>I hope he realised that...

**John's P.O.V.**

I knew now what I was going to do . My plan was simple, with minimal variables, the way I liked them.

Basically there were 3 possible outcomes.

Option 1. If my plan succeeded completely, the world would be down one criminal and I would get Sherlock, and the knowledge that he was mine now and forever, that he truly cared. This, was a wonderfully good outcome.

Option 2. Something went wrong, I finished without Sherlock noticing -or caring-. In this case I would re-enlist to go back to Afghanistan to get shot at again. Perhaps I wouldn't survive this time, either way this was the bit not good option.

Option 3. Something went _very_ wrong, I would try to take as much darkness with me out of this world as possible, but this option (by far the most likely it seemed) would most certainly end in my death. This was the more than a bit not good option.

Then again, if this happened it meant Sherlock hadn't cared about what I'd done. Didn't care about me; and if that was the case, there didn't seem to be much point in living anyway.

My thoughts took on a dreary monotone quality and I slowly drifted off to sleep, finally sliding into a dreamless void of sleep just ahead of a particularly windy section of the road...


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi everyone thanks for the favorite story/author etc and especially the reviews, from Lumoa and KMM I really apreciated them!**  
><strong>This was a really tough chapter to write just because of the mix between the information of John's tactics I wanted to convey, and my usual style of writing. Hope you guys enjoy it anyway! The next chapter will involve some Sherlock POV again and I'll get it up asap!<strong>  
><strong>-BellaD <strong>

* * *

><p>I fiddled with the gun in my hand, let my fingers run across the cool metal surface. Systematically <em>'click<em>' Sliding the clip into the weapon, _'click'_ flicking off the safety switch -pausing...- _'click'_ moving the switch back into place and '_rrrrft'_letting the full clip slide back into the palm of my hand.

Some people tap their feet or bite their nails when they are anxious. I, being an ex soldier, repeatedly loaded and unloaded my gun.  
>I stood up from my position at the end of the bed and padded over towards the hotel window. The moon was full and reminded me vaguely of the marble statues of ancient Greece, it reminded me vaguely of Sherlock's skin at night; when he slowly shed his silken purple shirt and lay silently beside me, how the shadows would slide over the smooth plains of his chest as he lent towards me and...<p>

Stop. Shut it, shut up! No need to make this more difficult than it already would be.

I threw an amazingly small amount of things in my sturdy backpack. Money (cash obviously, with non sequential numbers, that took a while to acquire...), my gun and my ever present journal and pen. This was all I had ever needed. Oh, and I had a spare pair of shoes I'd need to make a clean get away -last thing I needed now was _Mycroft_ trying to make excuses for his brother-.

I discovered a while ago that having lived with Sherlock gave me an advantage over even the most genius of criminals: I knew how both men thought.

In making my way to my chosen mode of transport I reversed the method I had applied only a few days before. I walked in my usual tidy, neat, shoes to the town square where I sat down (as did hundreds each day) on the side of the fountain in the middle of the plaza. I lifted my feet off the ground, climbed onto the fountain and walked 43 degrees counter clockwise on it's basin. Here I changed my shoes to a pair of sneakers; then I set my feet down upon the slightly sand covered cobble stones and walked off.

Walking away from the Town square my gait and stance had altered completely. I let my shoulder relax, shortened my stride, walking at a slow pace; leaving the impression of a cocky, unhurried youth with nothing to do yet never bored. As I walked I became this new, different me.

Sherlock was a master of disguises as was I, if in a different way entirely. Where Sherlock excelled at faking, acting and deceiving – a skill honed by necessity throughout his childhood-, I could become someone else in the blink of an eye by my near flawless ability to categorise and file away my feelings, a skill I, like Sherlock, had developed from a young age.

By now I had reached the other end of the square and if someone had seen me now, however well they knew me, they would have to look me straight in the face to recognise me. No make-up or wigs had been used, yet many a time someone had stood less than 2 feet away and still looked straight past me without a glimmer of recognition in their eyes.

John Watson was no longer a tidy, quiet, pleasant army doctor. My hair was messed up and my eyes looked around cheekily, my lips quirked up slightly at some unknown joke. I looked closer to 25 than the 40 years that usually lined my face. I was completely unrecognisable.

Shortly I arrived at my destination, a well used parking lot where, perched against the far wall, stood a black Yamaha yzf r125. I pulled my black leather jacket tighter around me and slid the helmet off the steering wheel and placed it firmly on my head, before easily swinging my leg over to straddle the bike. With one firm twist the machine roared to life.

Despite it having been years since I rode a motorbike, it came naturally to me ( I knew it had been a good idea to not disclose this particular skill to Sherlock). I controlled myself until I got out onto the highway. Suddenly I revved and went up on my hind wheel, throwing my head back, revelling in this long lost joy.

The tarmac stretched out in front of me, shimmering with fallen rain, reflecting the starry sky like an ocean in the night. Oh God, this was living! I felt free, Zorro on his steed, off to slay his arch nemesis, possibly off to my death. But I was free!

If anyone had seen this shadow driving swiftly through the night they would surely have been spell-bound by the scene's splendour, but none did, save for a startled deer and a single car with tinted windows, hidden deep in the bushes out of view of our lonesome rider.

* * *

><p><strong>Hoped you liked it, either way please tell, I'm need sufficient data to assess the success of each chapter and how I can make it better. This was a bit of a in between chapter I know but a lot of stuff will be referred to later on ( I'm hoping my writing will let me put Sherlock in some motorbike leather ;) PLEASE review!<strong>  
><strong>Love, BellaD<strong>


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry, I took a while updating. I was aiming for once a week but Circumstances arose and forced compelling insight, regarding discretion and valour( go captain Jack sparrow!) I tried to update as soon as possible.**  
><strong>Hope you enjoy, thanks for the reviews: Danibat, Mustangwoman, SQ (hrmmm it looks like 221b Baker IS the museum... I thought there was a seperate one...) and Sharmini. Please do keep the reviews coming, they make me write at every opportunity I have!<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Sherlock's P.O.V.<strong>

How could I have let this happen?

My fingers sank into my hair as I covered my face with the palms of my hands.

Soft, bright spring sunlight, that seemed green with the fresh youth it reflected, flitted through the creamy curtains, highlighting the emptiness of the hotel room.  
>Walking across the room I noticed a piece of unusually thick paper resting on the pillow of my bed. Hoping for an explanation, a letter of blame, a dear John (hah, oh the irony) letter, I unfolded the Bohemian paper. It took but a single glance before I folded the note back into itself and sat down upon the end of the bed. I knew this piece of writing, I had heard it from John's mouth countless times. This note was a copy, meaning he still carried the note, and the feelings it represented, with him. He did not wish to rip it out of his life, John left this copy with me in the hope that perhaps I wouldn't forget them completely. John wanted me to have something of his to remember him by. I knew John, he would only do this if he thought I no longer cared for him, if he was removing himself to save himself the pain of the brake-up he undoubtedly foresaw. Oh my silly, idiot John. God this was all my fault.<p>

Every time a case came along, I would run off like a young puppy, like a cheater to his mistress. I would leave and disappear for days on end. Leaving John to deal with work and mundaneties. The game was like a drug I couldn't resist, a new puzzle to solve. But eventually I would unravel the mystery and I would go back to the one riddle I would never unravel: Doctor John Watson. And he would take me back, without question or comment. Always letting me call it 'the Game' or 'work'. As if calling it by another name made it something different, stopped it being what it was: an affair.

But now I was done hurting my doctor. I would not try to find him, or try to get him back; because I knew when that sweet, seductive voice of a case called, I would go to it and leave John behind again.  
>Perhaps there had been more truth to my words than I realized when I told John I was married to my work, perhaps I was being unfaithful to my work, not to John. Either way I loved John (yes, fine I loved him, I'm not a sociopath, you happy now!) I loved John enough to leave him. What did they say? If you love something, let it go? I would let John have his life, I would let John be happy, even if it tore me apart.<p>

Resigned to this, I walked onto the street; I did not notice the subtle fragrance coming off the flowers, or the smell of freshly fallen rain on the tarmac as I would have with John. I hailed a cab, yellow spray-paint in one hand, gun in the other, I told the driver to head for the woods; I needed to shoot something.

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry it is quite short, next will be longer and John's POV. A massive shoutout to bb1019 who, besides being a great writer, has put up with all my sooking.<strong>  
><strong>lots of love and Very loudly NOT asking for reviews again ;)<strong>  
><strong>xxxx BellaD<strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**Hi everyone! here's the next chapter! hope you enjoy it!  
>-XX- BellaD <strong>

* * *

><p><strong>John's P.O.V.<strong>

_"Beep" Computer will shut down in 2 minutes, for more time please insert coins now."_

I stood up and rummaged through my pockets, locating a penny I slipped it into the slot in the side of the internet café's computer before resuming my scanning through the online newspapers, the calluses on my hands snagging as I ran my fingers through my sandy blonde hair in frustration. Every day I searched and still I could find nothing that rung of Moriarty.  
>In a rare explosion of rage I punched the keyboard in front of me. Suddenly a window popped up, some add about people who supposedly earned obscene amounts of money by telling their story or something ridiculous like that; but it reminded me of something.<p>

_I was standing in the rain, my face drenched with liquid from the atmosphere and tears from my eyes. I was alone and cold and was discovering that when a jacket said it was waterproof... well that only lasted so long. Standing, surrounded by unfriendly buildings, somewhere I didn't know. I had stormed out after a particularly heated argument between Sherlock and myself and now found myself lost and cold in the rain. Spying a surveillance camera on one of the buildings however, I had an Idea. I looked directly at the lens and mouthed silently " pick me up... please". I only hoped that Sherlock's paranoia about his brother controlling the government were well founded, though I believed they were. My suspicions were confirmed within minutes as a sleek black car pulled up besides me and the door opened to reveal the woman-whose-name-could-be-anything-but-Anthea._

From that day I knew for certain that wherever we were, we were being watched. With that memory flooding my mind I realised: if Mycroft was the big brother (no pun intended) of surveillance camera's, then Moriarty controlled the internet!  
>I quickly clicked onto an on-line forum and started typing, "Moriarty, you were right, I do have a heart, but I'm alone now so catch me if you can! SH" copying and pasting the message I posted it on fifty forums before my time ran out on the computer and I had no more small change. I sighed, satisfied, that should get his attention!<p>

I walked out onto the street and got onto my bike. Revving viciously I raced through the streets. Aggressive and antisocial as I cut through red lights and stop signs. It was twilight by the time I reached my small bed and breakfast room. I stormed around the room in a mixture of pent up energy and frustration accumulated in weeks of confinement in my room and my mind.

My room was filled with the bone dry, uncontrollable heat of the space-heater in the corner. I put the kettle on and walked to the single window looking over London. I closed my eyes and for the first time since leaving, allowed myself to feel, submerging myself in the world around me. Resting my head against the cool window I saw the damp lights of the city through my closed lids, I felt the vibrations of each raindrop that pattered against the window, the clammy condensation of my breath on the glass. I could hear taxi's, a clock-tower striking the hour and the whistling trill of the kettle.

I poured the piping hot water into a mug, listening to that unique sound that freshly boiled water seemed to poses. Leaving my tea to brew I walked over too my bag and took out my journal, which, unlike everything around me, was messy and disorganised. The only place I could just let go and write. Poems stories and ideas were, sometimes messily scribbled on a napkin, sometimes neatly transcribed, upon page after page of the creamy paper. I flicked through the pages slowly until I came upon the object of my search, a single page at the heart of the book, the same position the object of the poem held in me. A sudden weariness engulfed me and, tea forgotten, my head lolled until it rested gently against the pages of the book.

Within minutes John was fast asleep;clasped against his chest, where once a teddy bear, then a woman, a gun, then a detective had lain. A portrayal of his life. Now he slept with but the remnants of those memories. Hurting when he looked behind him, scared at what lay ahead and, when looking beside him, only an empty space where his friend had once been.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks to those who added me to their favourites etc, but I would really appreciate some feedback... I didn't get any reviews so I am going to propose a deal. Once I have 6 reviews of this chapter (doesn't have to be positive) I will upload the poemwritten piece that has been mentioned twice now. Hope this may elicit some reviews? pretty please!  
>The last sentence is based on a quote I like : "When it hurts to look behind you, and you're scared to look ahead, you can look beside you and your best friends will be there." <em>Unknown<br>_lots of love  
>BellaD <strong>


	7. Chapter 7

**Hiya all! I was going to post this with a chapter but havent had time to complete the next chapter yet and thought I'd get this up since I got the 6 requested reviews in under three days! Hope you like it, it is rather abstract but it's what I think of with Sherlock. **  
><strong>Lots of love, BellaD <strong>

* * *

><p>As a forest of ancient lay<p>

with words sweet as song or rotting decay

eyes like pools of darkness when cast

in mournful shadows of his past

his stance strong as old tree roots

the hunter aims, shoots

with hair dark as freshly turned soil

from his lips most men recoil

pallor pale as swans down

upon his brow rests a deepening frown

a crimson flower blossoms from the white bird's chest

snowy feathers do not withstand this test

when through all virtue the arrow of life rips

drops of mortality pool sharp on his lips.

* * *

><p><strong>Hope you all liked it. PLEAAAASE review as I am a kindaish... okay VERY nervous updating this. I usualy don't share my poems. so andy reviews are loved. Oh and if someone thinks of a good title, I'm rather in need for one.****Next proper chapter will be up before the end of the week. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Okay so I'm introducing a new P.O.V.: Mycroft. I'm not sure whether I'll be using it again but it just felt right for this chapter.  
>I hope you guys agree with my take on Sherlock when he's agitated, once again I just went on instinct.<br>Enjoy, love BellaD**

* * *

><p><strong>Mycroft's P.O.V.<strong>

I silently observed the lean figure of my brother, sitting with his violin clasped under his chin on John's chair in 221b Baker street. The only sign Sherlock was aware of my presence was a single shrill note before he resumed coaxing a haunting melody out of the rosewood violin. As I approached him from behind I saw a piece of creamy paper tucked in the chest pocket of his shirt.  
>Just the fact that he had not yet snarled at me was a worrying sign.<br>"What do you want Mycroft?" Sherlock's voice was resigned, with a hint of raw, agonizing pain.

" I assume you've been tracking John's movements on the internet then?" I figured the hurt in his voice could only be caused by his acceptance of what he was going to let happen: John's death.  
>"John was a good man 'Lockie. You should at least TRY to persuade him from this suicide mission of his!" I wasn't shouting, but I was astonishingly close. John had been good for my brother. I thought Sherlock might actually care for this one. Apparently I was wrong.<p>

"You know I hate it when you call me 'Lock... Wait.. suicide mission! What-do-you-mean suicide mission!" hmm... apparently he hadn't been keeping up with John. He clearly didn't like the sound of John and suicide in adjacent sentences... I had not heard him meld his words together like that since he was three.  
>" Well Lockie," I drawled, pulling a laptop out of my suitcase, "there's this thing called a laptop, and if you had put your self-pity on hold long enough to check it you might have already known."<p>

My brother sent me a glare cold enough to freeze the sun, before looking down at the screen. I watched his face transform as he read the message written over and over on the message boards I had loaded on various tabs.

_Fear-anger-hurt-fright-exasperation-fury-worry,_all flitted across my brother's lean features in the blink of an eye; before he stood up and whirled furiously through the apartment. Flashing through incoherent sentences as he thought and deduced.

**Sherlock's P.O.V.**

How had I expected a bloody idiotic TWAT like John to stay safe. Bloody-minded adrenalin junky with a hero complex the size of London bridge!  
>My anger fuelled my mind as I threw things into a bag. I ignored Mycroft's amused smirk and flung deductions at him as if they might wipe that damned look off his face.<p>

"Can't have gone by public transport, too easy to track. Can't use a car, not mobile enough. So, motorbike it is. But John doesn't know how to... _of course_! Strong grip and powerful twist in his hand, good balance, loves speed, impatient with traffic. Of COURSE John would have learned to drive a motorbike.

My eyes flitted across the room. What else did I... oh, yes, _obviously_. I dashed briefly into my room. Emerging seconds later in full motorbike leather. With a grin plastered on my face, I saluted Mycroft before dashing out the door.  
>If I was going to find John I was going to need transport equally fast as his. And I knew just the Italian restaurant that could help me out.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>I kept my end of the bargain, with six reviews the poem was posted and a new chapter was put up before the end of the week. I got some nice reviews about my poem ( I know my writing style is rather abstract, so thanks for bearing with me on that).<strong>  
><strong>I say we do the same again, I get six (or more) reviews and there will be another poem and a chapter up within a week. Deal?<strong>  
><strong>Lots o' love, BellaD<strong>

**PS. Lumoa, I edited chapter six and hope it makes more sense, I know my writing is a bit confusing at times! oh and thanks for the poem X) I'm glad you liked mine :D**


	9. Chapter 9

**I am SOOOOO sorry for the going-on three week delay, to make up for it there will be another chapter posted within the next day or so. Hope you like this chapter!  
>Love BellaD<br>P.S. Please don't be too mad at me for what happens at the end of the chapter!**

* * *

><p><strong>John's P.O.V.<strong>

I aimed my gun, tunnelling my vision until all I saw was my target. I waited until the perfect moment, feeling my heart pounding my chest. I released my pent up breath and shot, three hollow thuds echoed through the hall as my bullets hit their mark. A slightly vicious snarl curled about my lips as I assessed the damage . A single hole gaped in the heart of my target.

I was brusquely shocked out of the trance like state I was in by a scathing snort.  
>"Looks like ya' need some more practise mate"<p>

I turned and gave the overweight-middle-aged man beside me a condescending look.  
>"And why is that?" I asked him, smiling slightly<p>

"well, I heard ya' shoot three times din' I, an there's but one hit."

I looked at the single shot gracing the shooting range's paper target and raised an eyebrow as if surprised. The greasy fellow beside me smiled at his supposed victory. I made a big show of inspecting the paper on either side of my target, then pushed the sheet aside and peering at the wall behind, before answering.  
>"But, if I only hit my target once, where have the other two bullets gone?" Not bothering to wait for a response I turned on my heel and walked off. Leaving the meddling man to inspect the slight burn-marks where three bullets had shot through the single hole.<p>

On my way back to the motel a car pulled up beside me. Black and sleek I did not need to check the licence plate to know which car this was.

At first I had thought it was a coincidence when I saw an official looking car follow me. Surely there were black Mercedes that didn't belong to Mycroft? However, as I memorised each number plate I noticed a pattern. There where only five plates, that systematically rotated. Checking for details now,as I had learned with Sherlock, I noticed a small scratch on the bumper, a single dent on the hood. This was the same car tracking me. Trying to out smart me. Yet underestimating me as police and criminals alike had done so often.

Honestly I was rather disappointed in Mycroft; for someone who had known me for so long he obviously thought very little of my skills.

I walked into an alley, knowing that Mycroft would proffer to pick me up somewhere secluded.

I parked my motorbike and walked towards the idling car. As I opened the door to the back seat two things hit me.

The first was the realisation that I had been right when I thought Mycroft couldn't be the only person to own a sleek black Mercedes; the second was the bullet hitting me square in the chest.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you so much to Anon and Sharmini for reviewing (Sharmini the next chapter will surely please you). Thanks also to Lumoa for reviewing so regularly, I fixed the horrid 'waddaya' you pointed out I hope it's better now.<strong>

**To 'You Suck' I did not mean that I will not update if I did not get 6 reviews, the emphasis was meant to be on the idea that the update would be more speedy. Although I would appreciate it if you would make any further complaints under your author name (assuming you have one) as I would have replied sooner if you had, your complaint is duly noted and I will henceforth cease "holding chapters hostage".  
><strong>

**Please read and review,**

**xoxo BellaD**


	10. Chapter 10

**!Warning! This chapter contains abselutely zero plot progress and is purely for the entertainment purpousess provided by the eye candy that is Sherlock. Oh and to leave you wondering what happened to John just that little bit longer. Because of these reasons it might be quite short even by my standards.  
>Hope you love it (especially you Sharmini ;)<strong>

* * *

><p>Sandra looked up from her typingas she heard an engine slow and come to a stop outside the old brownstone office where she worked. Outside stood a dark blue motor bike which, even with the limited knowledge she had picked up through her ex boyfriend, was clearly custom made.<p>

Sandra pulled her eyes away from the bike and redirected her attention to the owner who was striding purposefully towards her. Slim and tall, Sandra assumed it was a woman coming towards her and was half-way through a snide thought about the woman's lack of curves, when the driver took off their helmet.

The secretary's murky blue eyes widened and her botoxed lips formed a surprised 'Oh' as handsome feline features where revealed, framed by a halo of dark curls. Before now Sandra had always been confused as to how Lucifer could have been both an angel and a demon. This man before her however, was living, breathing, alluring proof.

He strode up to her desk and started talking, drawing her focus down to his lips, they seemed to her like the sweeping wings of birds in flight beneath the thunder clouds that were his eyes.

Shaking her head slightly she realised his moving lips had actually indicated he was speaking.

"sorry sir, what was that?"

"I said I would like to speak to your boss."

How she did it she later could not recal, but she gathered her witts about her enough to remember protecol.

"I'm sorry sir but Mr Holmes does not wish to be interrupted today."

The devil/angel tilted his head slightly and went completely still, his eyes alone darting across her desk before he smiled slightly and leant towards her.  
>"Ah, I see. We would not want you getting in trouble now would we?..." As he spoke he shed his leather jacket. Sandra had trouble focussing on what the stranger said as she was treated to the sight of lean, pale arms and soft navy T-shirt fabric clinging to planes of a chest that promised to be equally pale and smooth. An unflattering shade of red rose to our poor secretary's face as he continued.<p>

"... But you see, I _really _need to speak with him. Surely there would be no harm in telling him, in just telling him Sherlock is here to see him. Would there?"

Sandra nodded dumbly and picked the phone up off the hook. A blur of words with her boss later she hung up.

"Mr... Mr Mycroft Holmes will see you now..."

The stranger gave her a curt not and twirled on the spot, as if expecting a cloak to swirl after him, and headed for the lift; unintentionally treating Sandra to the retreating view of tight leather trousers.

* * *

><p><strong>Hope you all like it, please read and review, thank you SO much for the reviews of the last chapter especially to Sharmini for always leaving such great reviews and comments you really brighten up my day! And to bbmcowgirl for her great review and head-slapping insight, I couldn't agree more! Big thanks allso foe your complement on my poem I really apreciated it :)<strong>

**Lots of huggs, love, cookies and rainbows!  
>BellaD<strong>


	11. Chapter 11

**Hi everyone! Here's the next instalment, featuring character development, small amount of plot progression and a whole lot more of the cliffhanger for which you are probably going to crucify me one of these days! Hope you enjoy!**  
><strong>Disclaimer: Sherlock is not mine, "there are others" (nods to the die-hard fans who watched 'the great game' with commentary)<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Sherlock's P.O.V<strong>

I walked through the majestic corridor,my feet sinking into the ridiculously thick carpet. No wonder the government was in debt!

At the end of the hall was a single mahogany door flanked by two genuine looking suits of armour. I cocked an eyebrow, and Mycroft had the nerve to say _I _was dramatic!

Stopping at the ludicrously carved doors I briefly considered knocking. I quickly dismissed the notion however. I was not here to ask for a favour, I was here to collect on one of the many favours Mycroft owed me.

I entered to a scene I was well acquainted with. Mycroft lay on the sofa that stood against the back walls of his office, staring contemplatively at the cup of tea in his hands, looking very much like he wished it was something stronger.

I felt a brief flash of pride towards my pompous sibling for kicking his liver destroying addiction. Mycroft sighed and put aside the mug, steepled his fingers and placed them against his lips. Deep in thought.

"Hello 'Lockie"

Obviously not deep enough to not notice my presence.

"Hello Mykie" I replied; my lips twitched slightly, two can play at the childhood-nickname-game. "Do you have any news on John?" My mouth had once more set itself in an exhausted line. For two days now I had searched the city trying to find my... friend?

Mycroft nodded dejectedly.  
>"I'm afraid so."<br>He got up and walked to the computer at his desk. Opening a file, a CCTV video started playing. At first I didn't see anything unusual, but, as I looked closer I noticed movements behind the camera. Out of my view, but reflected clearly in the glass of a shop-front window.  
>I recognised John immediately, my breath stopping as I saw a black Mercedes pull up beside him, a dry strangled sob racking my body as a gun was pointed at John. A shot was fired, hitting John in the chest and sending my dear blogger tumbling to the ground, blood pooling around him and<em> ruining<em> his jumper.

I glanced at Mycroft and, for a second, was astounded and enraged by his calm composure. How could he so callously watch a friend be shot?

When I looked down however, I saw splaying blots of ink; dried now but still incriminating traces of his grief. This was by no means the first time Mycroft had seen this footage and he had long since spilt his tears.  
>"He's not, he's not. … Is he?" I managed to choke out<p>

" I don't know 'Lockie, I really don't"

"What now?"

"I sent people down to investigate as soon as I saw it but we couldn't find anything, I now have people tracking the car through CCTV cameras. A car would be too obvious and easy to shake off in London traffic. Besides, I figured you'd rather take the more hands-on approach on yourself."

I nodded and turned to Mycroft as he stood.

"Thank you... Brother." I said sincerely as I gripped his hand before turning and leaving the office.

**Sandra's P.O.V.**

On her way to drop off a memo to her boss, Sandra was pondering over the gossip she had just heard concerning her boss' good looking guest, and apparently, brother. Sandra just did not see the resemblance!

Nearing Mr. Mycroft's office, the door swung open and the tpic of today's lunchtime gossip came striding out. The man's handsome features were set in a haughty, determined look she had seen many times before. _Now _she saw the family resemblance!

Sandra watched as he brushed past her without a second glance before she turned to the door. She was about to knock when she noticed it was still open. Just a crack, but enough to see her boss standing by his desk with a dazed look on his face. Straining slightly she heard her boss mumble.

"You're welcome... little brother."

Sandra turned and walked away silently. The memos could wait.

* * *

><p><strong>Hope you enjoyed that! YAY by the way! SIX reviews on one chapter! "It's Christmas!" Thank you Soooo much to: OnTheWinterSolstice(yes I agree I would love someone to sketch this!), Soapiefan(thank you for taking the time to post a comment on both the 9th and 10th chapter! hope you enjoy the future chapters!), SHARMINI!(WOW thank you for your great review.. again, you brighten up my day! I have to admit I am very proud to have written something "squee-worthy' ;) , bbmcowgirl (Thanks! I hope my imagination will be so kind), Lumoa ( no major plot at the moment I know but next chapter will be up in a week and it will have heeps of plot!) and last but not least, sentarla (It's always great when new people find my story hope you keep enjoying it!)<strong>

**Till next week!**  
><strong>BellaD <strong>


	12. Chapter 12

**Hi everyone! I think this is the point where I explain my UN-BE-LIE-VA-BLY long break between chapters by saying that I have been buisy with : litterally 7 school projects, breaking up with my boyfriend, a theatre production, preparing my new unit to make it inhabitable and being a mediater between my parents... but that would just be me being a sook so I'm just gonna say sorry and get on with the story.**  
><strong>-X- BellaD <strong>

* * *

><p><strong>John's P.O.V.<strong>

_I was back in my youth, a paramedic, an army doctor. I had someone to help._

_The stranger lay before me on his chest, a liquid rose spreading out from beneath him. I rushed closer to the victim, now close enough, I could see his sandy blonde hair and a face so young and weary that the bullet wound he had sustained merely seemed to be the straw that broke the soldier's back; or chest really, I thought as I looked at the victims injuries: Pistol sized entry wound, shattered ribs but a relatively clean through-and-through, the patient would survive with immediate medical attention._

_I continued advancing on the victim, and continued, and continued... I couldn't stop moving towards the body and, with a numb kind of jolt, I realised I wasn't moving towards, but rather into the victim.  
>I struggled against the force moving me, not wanting to return to that broken body.<br>Wait... return?  
>It was then that I touched the body's hot, clammy skin and everything went black.<em>

I blinked slowly, feeling my eyelashes flutter heavily against the cold, hard concrete my cheekbone was sprawled against.

I almost smiled at the accuracy of my unconscious diagnosis; instead however, my face contorted as pain seared through me. Now that my body had caught up to my mind I was filled with unadultarated anguish. As my body writhed in agony my mind was filled with the bullets and stench of sand and fear of Afghanistan.

Hours or days or seconds or years could have passed before a door I hadn't realised existed, swung open; revealing a dark silhouette.

_How had I been so foolish?_

Despite his unimpressive stature he cast a long shadow.

_How had I convinced myself this was one of the Holmes brothers?_

He leaned closer to me, bringing his flat, black eyes into focus.

_How had I ever believed Sherlock cared enough to chase after me?_

As the short man towered over me he finally spoke:  
>"Hello Dr. Watson."<p>

I choked back the fear and blood clotting in my throat long enough to reply in a steady voice:

"Professor Moriarty."

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for sticking by me! I PROMISE the next chapter will be up by next week!<strong>  
><strong>PS. Thanks to bbmcowgirl and Sharmani for reviewing time and time again! (btw Sharmani, I changed the last chapter and fixed the mistake you pointed out :)<strong>


	13. Chapter 13

**SO SOOO sorry I havent updated sooner, hope you enjoy.  
>XX BellaD<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Sherlock's P.O.V <strong>

_Brown hair, blue eyes... NO, Next.  
>Green eyes, freckles... Next<em>

_Dark hair... definitely not! Next_

_Blonde hair, pale complexion... Is it? But no, still not him._

I was sitting on the terrace of an old café in Hampstead drinking coffee ( I had given up on tea after day 4 of continuous searching).

I could feel peoples eyes on me, Taking in the Aristocratically handsome face, leather clad body and dark curls that stuck slightly to my temples from the heat.

I could see my reflection in the coffee pot I was using to observe passers by, hoping desperately John may be amongst them.

For years I avoided looking in the mirror, despised the good looks that so often interested the women (and not seldom, men) but which were so so irrelevant once the got to know – and with that knowing, despise- me. With John I had been able to actually _look _at myself while shaving, lately a smile had even started to briefly appear upon seeing myself in the looking glass; a reflex I had lost over 20 years ago.

With John I knew I had someone who cared for me, who, when looking at me was filled with a desire to know every part of me.  
>I had long ago come to the conclusion that friendship, care and lust were mutually exclusive; that people,when looking upon an object of physical desire, lost all ability, all <em>will <em>for love and companionship. John had taught me otherwise.

Hours had been spent, each enjoying the other; sometimes with that raw lust but mostly through a wish to show our care for each other. My thoughts quirked up at the corners for a second as I remembered last Christmas eve's er... _celebrations _being stopped for the sake of a highly amusing discussion on the pros and cons of having discussions with inanimate objects versus people.

It was one of the best evenings of my life.

Now I was reduced to whipping my head round every time the slightly distorted image of my coffee pot displayed someone who looked even remotely like my love. Once again I was avoiding eye contact with myself.

Even so I could not help but see; in the last two weeks I had lost weight, weight even I knew I could not afford to lose. Dark bruises clung to the space between my eyes and cheek bones, their purplish colour creating slightly violet tones to my liquid metal eyes.

I swatted the coffee pot, frustrated with this aimless searching. For days on end I had not slept or eaten, I had combed through every inch of John and Moriarty's lives, at this very moment every homeless person, colleague and enemy I could bribe were out looking for John. This however, left nothing concrete for me to research; and so I took out all my pent up energy(goodness knows where I got it from) and anger out on the unsuspecting coffee pot. The empty pot spun unsteadily, teetering on its bottom rim before succumbing to the force of my rage and falling hopelessly on its side.

My eyes focussed on the underside of the pot, the new angel revealing a dark figure standing near an alleyway; no more than a shadow in the corner of my eye. I would not have noticed if not for the fact that right at that moment a man tumbled past said alley, in the intoxicated state every self respecting drunk finds himself in at ten o'clock in the morning.

The shadow was obviously well trained, staying perfectly still despite the pandemonium caused by the drunk. Most people would have easily looked past the figure, have their attention directed completely towards the commotion. But I am not most people, I am far to harsh, cold and unrelenting for that.

It was because of this that I noticed the shimmer of movement as the shadow sidestepped the drunk; it was because of an entirely different part of me however, that I felt the sudden, illogical certainty that this person was connected to Moriarty.

Without another seconds hesitation I jumped up, pretending to be concerned for the pesky drunk. I knew my mystery shadow would run anyway, but he wouldn't be spooked in to running and hiding; which would have been of great inconvenience to me. I ran up to the drunk, he smelt of fermenting humanity and I wondered how alcohol could ensnare people so.  
>Following through with my scheme, I looped the greasy, rotting, rag-clad arm over my shoulders; dragging the barely conscious man at a breakneck pace through the alleyways. I followed my shadow for three blocks until he realised that no one would run like that with a semi conscious man, and he really took off.<p>

I quickly pulled a ten pound note out of my pocket and shoved it, and the drunk, onto the pavement.

I set of, in per-suite of who I was convinced was holding my John captive.  
>I ran through the streets, I would get him back if it was the last thing I did.<br>Heck, running like a madman as I was, it probably would be.

* * *

><p><strong>I am hoping to finish this story in another three chapters or so, thank you so much to all of you especially Sharmini. I am allmost at the 50 review mark, I'd love it if you could help me out there?<br>Hope you enjoy this chapter, loads of love and kind regards,**

**BellaD **


	14. Chapter 14

**The second last chapter my friends, so this time something slightly different. Until the last paragraph the point of view is split pretty much line by line between John (normal font) and _Sherlock ( in italics).  
><em>I hope you enjoy it!**

**Love, BellaD**

* * *

><p>Mind numbing ice washed over my face, seared pins into every inch of my skin.<p>

_My face was burning, waves of heat rolling off my skin._

My chest was heaving uselessly, trying to breathe in the water submerging me.

_My head spun from the copious amounts of oxygen forcefully flooding my lungs._

I prayed for air like I had not prayed in decades, air... please... just one breath.

_Water, I would need water soon or I was going to pass out, just one sip, one drop._

Someone was sucking the air out of my lungs until they were about to implode.

_It was like a balloon was being blown up inside my chest, making my lungs explode_

Black dots tunnelled my vision.

_White flares burst in my eyes._

Was this how I was going to die? With darkness winning over light.

_Really? A bright light? The one I had so vehemently denied my entire life, now here to haunt me so close to my end._

A shadow loomed over me, like death waiting to collect my soul.

_Through the flash bangs of light piercing my retina I saw an end to this frantic race. my prey was headed towards a modern loft._

I heard a sudden bang, for a second hope filled my blackening thoughts.

_The side of my hand hit the target's neck with an accuracy guided by death's blessing. My prey crumbled, his head banging loudly against the loft's doors._

My soon to be murderer tightened his grip around my neck, reminding me that he was not going to be flustered into leaving before his task was complete. Until I was dead.

_Mycroft's cars were pulling up right behind me but they would be too late._

Death was closing in yet all I could bring myself to regret in this life was not spending more time with the people... _person _I loved; not trusting him when I had him. All I could regret was loosing him.

_I burst through the doors, my shoulder screaming with agony in harmony with my lungs. Mere paces behind me was Mycroft, but I wouldn't wait for him.  
><em>_Moriarty was standing over a broken body.  
><em>_My gun was out, trained at the back of his head. I pulled the trigger a split second before a slight tug tripped me up. I barrelled forwards, over Moriarty's body, not realizing the significance of that slight tug until, as I crashed down next to John's body shoving him out of the water, an explosion ripped apart the world.  
><em>_I was flung into unconsciousness, gripping Johns limp, cold body in a deathly vice._

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry if this cliffhanger and rather confusing chapter, hope it makes sense...<br>Thank you all for reading and reviewing, especially Sharmini :)**

**See you next chapter!**


	15. Chapter 15

**The very last chapter of this story! Wow I never thought I would write anything this long. Thank you all so very much for reading and especially reviewing!**  
><strong>I hope you like the way I ended, anyway, you probably (hopefully) want to start reading so I will let you go now.<strong>

**Lots of lobe, BellaD**

**PS. This time the **_italics _**are Sherlock's thoughts. **

* * *

><p><strong>Sherlock's P.O.V.<strong>

Big snowflakes meandered down from the grey sky. The whole world was covered in the fluffy white stuff, draining the world of all colour and sound. In the distance some children were laughing but the joy never reached us here, the snow muting out all happiness.

The priest's prayers droned monotonously over the dark hole. With a last _amen _he closed the bible. I picked up a handful of dirt, scattering it into the hole before letting my hand fall limply by my side. Flowers and dirt thumped down on the coffin as the mourners trickled away in a steady stream until I was left alone with my thoughts.

_How could I have let this happen? It should be me in that box, not him. _Snowflakes landed like slivers of death against my cheeks. Down the middle of each side of my face, fiery rivers of tears cut through the numbing cold. _I never told him how much he meant to me, for so long he patched me up when I was hurt, always there for me, never asking for anything in return. I never did thank him for that, and now I never would. _The crunching of footfalls on the frozen earth sounded behind me. _How did people forget? Forget whom they love, whom they would miss when they were gone, who means the most to them._ A gentle hand rested on my shoulder, trying to comfort me but not quite knowing how.  
>'He loved you, you know'<br>I sighed 'Yes, I know that'. The figure beside me nodded slowly, as if letting that sink in. After a few seconds he spoke again 'He knew you loved him too'.  
>I remained silent.<br>_I had become so caught up in the atrocities in life, so embittered by man's cruelty, I lost my faith in heroes._

The hand on my shoulder slid down until I fell a warm, rough, palm in mine.

_If only I had looked in the mirror, I would have seen a hero. Not in me but in the traces of my brother that lingered in my features. Now all I have left is that reflection._

I turned around to head home, squeezing the hand in mine gently for support.

A soft dusting of snow was starting to fall upon the black marble headstone, the snow stuck heavily on the stone, already partially obscuring the gold epitaph:  
><em><span>Here lies Mycroft Holmes.<span>_  
><em><span>Beloved brother and friend of Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson.<span>_

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you so much to Prichan and Madameangel for reviewing and to everyone who has taken the time to read this and stick with it!<strong>  
><strong>Hope to meet you all again soon,<strong>  
><strong>Yours truly, BellaD <strong>


End file.
